Camera Flashes (1) - Taylor Swift

10

When Grace's private jet landed in London, she had requested one specific thing to be waiting for her in the house. She had enough time to change out of the dress from the night before since stopped at her hotel to collect her things and clean up.

She walked into the home she shared with Charles and found him standing in the living room with his arms crossed over his chest. He turned his brown haired covered head to look at her with a curious glance, "Did you buy a television?"

"I'm sure it didn't just fall out of your ass."

"What do we need a television for?" Charles really took a good look at her and then said, "What happened to your face?!"

It was actually a small scratch and would be healed in a few days, but it was highly unusual for Grace to look even the slightest bit disheveled. Like, ever. She didn't even come down the stairs for coffee without her makeup on and outfit changed.

"I scratched it with a broken fingernail," Grace had thought long and hard about an appropriate story to tell.

Charlie hummed, returning his attention to the screen, "Do you know how it works?"

"Yes! You're going to adore it, they have every kind of story you could be inclined to watch unfold."

"You father is going to throw a fit."

"I'll tell him it's for the news. They have that on there, too."

"Really?"

In New York, Taylor began to get settled into the townhouse she had rented on Cornelia Street. She didn't need to rent something in New York, she could've just as easily went to Nashville for the summer or even Rhode Island while she waited for the renovations to take place but she was trying to make New York work longterm.

She was also trying to make sure the paparazzi didn't catch sight of the hickey on her neck that was covered with makeup. She didn't have to worry too much unless they were called, but every once in a while they surprised her.

She didn't hear from Grace on Wednesday, but Thursday at approximately three in the afternoon for the blonde, she got a phone call.

"Hello, Grace," Taylor answered it after waiting for it to ring twice, she read a thing about looking desperate and she didn't want to look that way- even if she felt a little desperate.

"You're an asshole," Grace was sobbing on the other end of the line and Taylor felt her heart drop, "Who the fuck hurt you so badly you needed to write that?"

Taylor paused as she tried to figure out what the fuck she accidentally did, "Are you calling to yell at me for my songs?"

"Yes!" Grace exclaimed. In London her face was in full ugly cry, the most emotion she'd let herself feel in a near decade, "Now it's big black cars and Rivera views, and your lover in the foyer doesn't even know you? How you took the money and your dignity and got the hell out?!"

"The Lucky One," Taylor hummed, a smile growing on her face once she realized that Grace hadn't just listened to it but she was able to recite lyrics, "It's about how terrible being famous is."

"It hurts," Grace admitted, "So many of these songs hurt me."

"That's the common reaction," Taylor chuckled, "You gonna be okay?"

"Apparently not," Grace admitted, she was pacing in her bathroom, dabbing tissues to her swollen under-eyes.

"I'm sure you will," Taylor said softly, "I have a word for you, do you want to hear it?"

"Okay," Grace sniffled, "Is it unstable? I feel unstable."

"It's actually not a feeling. It's a few words, actually. I'll tell you later. What song did you like the most? Was it State of Grace?" Taylor thought maybe she'd like the one with her name in it.